I started to give him a pat answer, but the truth came out instead. “Because there’s nothing else I’ve ever wanted. It’s always been politics.”
He smiled. “Of course. It’s in your blood.” He was quiet for a moment. “I worked on his campaign in the early years. I remember your mother.” I froze. There was no need to know who he was. It really was true—Mitch Anders knew where all the bodies were buried.
“You remind me of him. Smart, determined, ruthless.”
I couldn’t say anything. Didn’t know what to say. I was so used to not talking about my father, spent so much time filled with loathing for him, that it was nearly impossible to say his name without giving my emotions away. I knew Mitch had been my father’s campaign manager a long time ago; I just hadn’t realized he knew about me.
Did my father explain me as a problem he needed fixing? A mistake he needed to take care of? He’d wanted my mother to get an abortion when she found out she was pregnant. He was married then, and a pregnant mistress would have ruined him. Especially when he and his wife already had one daughter with another on the way.
I struggled to fix a polite smile on my face, struggled to push past the disgust clawing at my throat. “I’m nothing like him.”
Chapter Eight
Am I the only one drooling over those new ads from the Clayton campaign? And the dog . . .
—Capital Confessions blog
Will
“I’m really getting sick of this. There has to be a way we can get them to focus on something else.”
The latest Capital Confessions post was pulled up on the screen in front of us. We’d been working for hours now and it was just after midnight. I was on my fifth cup of coffee; Jackie had been chugging Diet Coke like it was her lifeline. There had been five of us when we started, but little by little people filtered out, going home to try and salvage time with their families. I was exhausted and dying to go to bed, but it seemed wrong to leave Jackie working by herself. And then Capital Confessions had come out.
Jackie shrugged. “We can try to control the message, sure. But, at the end of the day, the media’s going to lead with the angle they think will most appeal to voters. And right now, unfortunately, you’re a young, hot guy in politics—a young, hot, single guy. We can’t avoid that.”
The thing about running for office that I hadn’t realized until I was in it, was that each day felt a little more soul-sucking than the one before. And yet Jackie truly seemed to love this part of it. Her eyes lit up when we talked strategy, making her impossibly more beautiful. And as much as she loved it, she made everyone else love it as well. She was a great asset to the campaign.
“What can we do about it?”
“Short of you radically changing your appearance? Probably not much.” She paused. “A girlfriend might help—a nice, classy, demure girlfriend—the kind who won’t steal the spotlight but will give you the stability that attracts voters. Actually, a fiancée would be better.”
I groaned. “You sound like my mother.”
I didn’t know how she could talk about me having a girlfriend; the memory of kissing her in the kitchen was still firmly embedded in my mind. I’d never been less interested in the idea of meeting someone else.
Her lips twitched. “Well, you’re in that phase in your life when it makes voters nervous to see a single candidate. You’re young for this level of politics. You have huge financial backing and a lot going for you on a party level, not to mention your grandfather’s political connections, but that might not be enough. You’re lucky your opponent has been dogged with scandals for the past few years. But still—your age is a factor. Your marital status is part of that.”
To me, all of this was a means to an end. I wanted to get elected, wanted to make a difference serving my constituents. But I hated what I had to do to get there. I didn’t give a shit about the interviews, and the uncomfortable photo shoots, or the fucking dog they suggested I “borrow” for my latest ad campaign. And I definitely wasn’t going to date someone I wasn’t attracted to in order to endear myself to my prospective constituents.
But she was also right. That was part of what made her so good at her job—she had amazing instincts. My opponent was sixty years old and had been in politics for nearly as long as I’d been alive. A fact he frequently liked to throw out during interviews and speeches. He’d been married to the same woman since college, had three kids, and four grandkids. Their campaign photos looked like the picture of the American dream. Mine looked liked a singles ad.
“So, what, are you going to start fixing me up on dates now?” I asked, unable to keep the annoyance out of my voice. I wasn’t sure if it was her job on the campaign or her personality, but I couldn’t escape the feeling that she was managing me again. I may have been five years older, but the age difference seemed to evaporate when she got like this.
Jackie laughed. “Do you need fixing up?”
I loved her laugh. I’d been listening to it for days now and it was impossible to not feel it ripple through you, her enthusiasm infectious.
“I don’t know. It might be a little awkward if you’re fixing me up on dates during the day and I’m seeing you at night.”
She flushed. “True.”
And suddenly I knew we were both thinking of that day in the office . . . and our kiss.
I’d said we shouldn’t be alone together at work mainly because I couldn’t ignore how risky things had been in the kitchen. Anyone could have tried to come in, found the door locked, and jumped to the wrong conclusion—or the right one in this case. But now, we were really and truly alone in my office. Everyone had gone home for the night. And suddenly I wanted the image of her sprawled out on my desk more than I’d ever wanted anything in my life. I wanted to pick up exactly where we’d left off.
“You know, you’re right. Maybe I do need fixing up.”
Jackie pulled out her notepad, pen poised. My dick twitched. God, she had the sexy librarian vibe down.
“Okay, what kind of girl should I be looking for?”
I opened my mouth to answer her and then closed it again. If she’d asked me a week ago, I would have described someone like my ex-girlfriend, Caro. I’d always preferred brunettes—tall, slim, smart. But I didn’t say any of those things. I didn’t say anything. I just stared at her, notebook in hand, pen ready.
I rose from my chair, walking around the desk, moving toward her. I stopped a foot away, leaning my hip against the edge, crossing my arms across my chest.
“For one, I like blondes.” She just stared at me, her hand not moving. “Blue eyes. Tan. Legs for days. The kind of legs that are the perfect length to wrap around my waist when I’m plunging inside.” She set the notepad down on the floor, her hand shaking slightly. “She’d be so smart. Scary smart. She’d challenge me—keep me on my toes. I’d never get bored. Sexy as hell.”
She flushed and her lips parted, and suddenly all of the words just disappeared.
Jackie
I leaned forward, pressing my mouth against his. His lips were warm, his mouth slightly parted, almost as if I’d taken him by surprise. Maybe I had. But I’d seen the kiss in his eyes, and my fear that he wouldn’t kiss me eclipsed my concerns that I was crossing a line.
If I’d had the advantage of surprise, it was only for an instant, because the second our lips touched I was seduced.
He kissed like he did everything—well, elegantly, as if he were in charge. He wasn’t demanding, he was just everywhere. He didn’t just kiss my lips; he invaded my senses.
His hands were bold—long, tapered fingers teasing, stroking my flesh. His cologne was strangely seductive. I’d never thought that a smell could be sexy, but there was something so masculine and real about his scent. I wanted it covering my skin.
I tore my lips away from his, kissing my way up his neck.
Will leaned down, pulling me out of the chair, his arms around my waist, carrying me over to the desk. His mouth covered mine as he laid me bac
k, pushing papers out of the way, his hand behind my head, protecting me against the hard wood.
He lifted me, settling between my thighs, wrapping my legs around his hips. He was already hard.
His body came down, covering mine, his lips plundering my mouth, his hands lifting the edge of my top, exploring the bare flesh under the silk. I arched my back, pressing my skin into his hands, wanting them all over my naked body, wanting him thrusting inside me, making me come so hard I forgot everything.
“I want you naked,” Will murmured against my skin. He moved back and his eyes darkened as he lifted the shirt higher, pulling it up over my head. He tossed the shirt to the ground, his hands drifting down to the front of my pants, caressing my bare skin along the way. Gah. My breath caught in my throat as he unbuttoned them, dragging the zipper down.
I lifted my body instinctively, letting him slide my pants off my hips, down my legs, until they landed in a heap on the floor. I lay before him on the desk, wearing nothing but a black lace bra and matching thong and heels.
I waited for him to move closer to me, to cover my body with his, to go back to kissing me, waited to feel his hardness rubbing against me, the throbbing ache between my thighs impossible to ignore.
Instead Will stood there, staring at me, his gaze raking me over from head to toe. He looked at me like he had all the time in the world to stare, as if there were no urgency, only his needs, his pace, his desire. He looked at me like I was his, and god help me, I wanted to be.
“You’re so beautiful.” His voice strained as the words escaped his lips. “You know it, too. So, so beautiful.” He reached down, his hand closing around my ankle, circling it, lifting my leg up, spreading me, baring more of me before him.
His eyes on me the entire time, his fingers teased the inside of my ankle, the feeling light, tickling almost. And then his hand moved higher and the urge to laugh completely disappeared. He paused at my knee, his fingers dipping into the soft, hollow spot behind my kneecap. It was literally the least erotic place I could think of, and yet his touch had my hips jerking off the desk.
His other hand came down on my stomach, holding me still while his hand continued its torment. And then I realized the difference between him and the three guys who’d come before him.
I’d been sleeping with boys and he was a man.
“I want to touch you.” The words tumbled from my mouth, somewhere between pouting and begging.
“Maybe later.”
My eyes narrowed. “Do girls usually get off on this whole bossy thing you have—”
His hand brushed against the edge of my thong, his fingers dipping under the fabric and slipping inside me before I even had the chance to finish my question.
Unfuckingbelievable. My moan broke the silence.
He chuckled, the sound low and throaty, just enough of an edge to it to make me think I wasn’t the only one losing my mind.
“I think you’re going to get off on it. Right here on my desk so that every time I sit in that chair I’ll remember the image of you like this, spread out before me, wanting to be taken.”
His voice cracked as he moved over me, his body covering mine, his mouth brushing against my nipple through the black lace. His fingers stroked me, dominating me, filling me. He teased my clit with his thumb, sending sparks through me. Orgasms had never been easy for me, but I had a feeling that was about to change.
His mouth left my breast as he pulled back, staring down at the point where we were joined, where his fingers possessed me. There was enough heat in his gaze to set me on fire.
“I want you. I want to be inside you. I want to fuck you like this on my desk. I will. I’ll have you here. I’ll have you everywhere. Whatever is between us, it’s just starting.
“I’m not going to fuck you tonight. Not like this. I want you in my bed the first time. I want all night to taste you and tease you. I want to make you come the whole night; to wake you up in the dark with my cock inside you and my mouth on those gorgeous tits.”
I couldn’t. There were no thoughts. Nothing. My mind was blank; my body so turned on I didn’t care about anything else. He could have me any way, every way, as long as he never, ever stopped touching me.
“Tonight’s about you. Ever since I saw you for the first time I’ve been wondering what your face looks like when you come, what sounds you’ll make when you do. I wanted to know how you would feel, so warm and wet. I’ve wondered how you’d taste. Tonight I’m going to make you come with my hands and my mouth, and next time I’ll make you come with my cock.”
Will
Jesus Christ.
Jackie spread out naked on my desk was pretty much every fucking fantasy I’d ever had. Better. The words coming out of my mouth were every dirty, wild thing I’d ever wanted and never been able to say.
I’d never been this guy. I was always polite, respectful in bed. I wasn’t bad or anything . . . I just wasn’t this.
There was something about this girl—something that spoke to the side of me I’d never indulged. I couldn’t have imagined doing this with anyone else, showing this side of myself to anyone else. I trusted her with this part of myself. Trusted that I could let go.
I knelt down in front of the desk, momentarily speechless at the sight before me. The words that came out of my mouth may have been bold, but inside I felt wild, nervous, unrestrained.
I leaned forward, my lips grazing the inside of her thigh. I inhaled her scent, floral and sweet, nipping the skin, teasing her flesh with my teeth and tongue, my mouth moving higher. Her knuckles gripped the edge of the desk, a soft moan escaping from her mouth.
I wanted her badly. More than I’d ever wanted anyone. But there was still a part of me that didn’t want our first time to be like this.
We were at work—in my office. And there was something that seemed tacky about fucking her over my desk. I didn’t want her to think she was just someone I screwed around with. Whatever she said about keeping things casual, it wasn’t my style. If I was with a woman it was because I liked her, wanted her. She would be more than just a fuck for me whether she was ready to accept it or not. I wanted all of her, not just the pieces she was willing to give.
So I ignored the raging hard-on, the part of my brain that wanted to unzip my pants and sink into her warmth. Tonight was for Jackie. Tomorrow could be for me.
I took one last look at her, memorizing the image. I had a thing for lingerie. I knew I was a guy so I wasn’t supposed to care about the packaging, but there was nothing hotter than a girl who dressed like she owned her sex. This girl knocked it out of the park.
Her black bra was sheer enough that I could see the outline of her nipples through the lace, her tits high and full. Her thong was a little scrap of lace that had my blood pounding. Add in the fuck-me high heels and I was a goner.
I reached behind her, her breasts rubbing against my chest as I unhooked her bra, stripping it away. Her gaze met mine and heat reflected back at me.
I leaned forward, reaching up and pulling the edge of her thong down, trailing the lace across her flesh as I pulled it off her gorgeous legs. I stuffed the thong into my suit pocket, turning my attention to her body spread out before me. She was perfection and I almost couldn’t believe she was mine . . . even for just the night.
I bent my head and a flash of ink at her hip caught my eye. I froze.
Oh god, she had a tattoo.
I was done. Absolutely fucking done. This girl had me strung so tight I was ready to come in my pants.
Jackie levered up on her elbows, her face flushed, her lips swollen from my earlier kisses, her blonde hair tumbling in a cascade over her tits. My mind went completely and utterly blank.
“Why’d you stop?”
“You have a tattoo.”
“Yeah.” She looked at me like I was crazy. Maybe I was.
“What does it say?” My voice sounded like it belonged to someone else.
“It’s a line from a Roethke poem.”
; Yep, done. She was sexy, and fucking brilliant, and I could feel myself tumbling headfirst, and I just didn’t care.
I looked down at the ink—my mind struggling to process the words written on her skin.
I’d had to take a poetry class at Harvard. I’d hated it—every fucking minute. We’d spent hours talking about symbolism, and imagery, and I’d spent most of the time wanting to shoot myself.
Until Roethke. Until “I Knew a Woman.”
She had the final line from my favorite poem tattooed on her hip—eight words that when strung together formed the sexiest sentence I’d ever read—and all I could think was—
Mine.
Jackie
I needed his mouth on my skin now. Will knelt in front of me, staring at me, his expression slightly dazed. I wanted to shake him, wanted to beg him to go back to kissing me. I was insane with need, and want, and lust, and the orgasm that dangled just barely out of reach.
He seemed fixated on my tattoo. His lips rubbed over my hip, over the ink, tracing the swirls. It made me uncomfortable; it felt too intimate. I felt too much. It was crazy, of course, considering I was sprawled out naked on his desk, and still I couldn’t help but feel like I’d just given him a part of myself, one I’d never intended to give. He was too good at this and I was too raw.
And then his mouth left my hips, and traveled a few inches south, and I began to fully appreciate what he meant by taste.
Confession? I’d never had a guy go down on me. Ever. It was just one of those things that had never happened. I’d hooked up with guys before, but it had always been more about mutual pleasure than anyone doing this to me. And fuck, his mouth was magic.
Will teased me, working his mouth over me like a man who knew his way around a woman’s body. He tongued my clit, my back arching off the desk. I was so close, could feel the orgasm building as he played with me, his lips and tongue ravaging me. I reached down, my hands threading through his hair, pulling him closer to me, wanting more than just his mouth on me.
Flirting With Scandal Page 7